Page 77 of First-Time Caller
“Nothing,” he says, shaking his head. He shakes two pills into his palm and tosses them back. I am transfixed by the line of his throat when he swallows. “You look comfortable. It’s cute.”
I scowl. “I’m not cute.”
“You’re very cute.”
I roll my eyes and retreat to the fridge.
You’ve been flirting too.
I guess I have.
Aiden finds a seat at the table with Maya and Grayson as I putter around the kitchen, my hangover reduced to a dull ache at the base of my skull and a desperate need for grease. I make pancakes and eggs and enough bacon to feed a small army, a pot of coffee bubbling to life. Their low voices drift around me and the parts of me that slipped out of rotation last night while I sat alone at a restaurant waiting for someone who never showed slowly knit themselves back together. Aiden started the work last night when he called my name down an empty street, and the low conversation at the kitchen table is guiding it forward. This is my home. These are my people. These are the things that matter the most.
I have all the love I need.
“He didn’t show?” Grayson asks in outrage, Aiden catching him up with what I hope is a heavily modified version of last night’s events. I lean over his shoulder to drop a plate of bacon in the middle of the table, then slide into the seat next to him.
“He didn’t show,” I confirm. “Sorry, Gray, but you’re no better at picking my dream man than I am.”
“Can I try?” Maya asks, tapping Aiden’s forearm to get him to hand her the plate with the toast. He does so without her having to verbalize the request, and something plucks once, right beneath my rib cage. “Can I pick your next date, Mom?”
I crunch on a piece of bacon and consider. “I don’t think so, kiddo.”
“What? Why not?”
“I think you’ve done enough.”
She grumbles something under her breath aboutstubbornandunfair. “Who, then?” Her voice is heavy sarcasm. “You?”
Grayson reaches for the jam. “I think your mother has demonstrated that she’s awful at picking dates as well.”
I sigh. “Maybe it’s a family curse. Poor judgment.”
Maya sips thoughtfully at her orange juice. “How about Aiden? He could pick your next date.”
I choke on my coffee. That’s the last thing I want.It’s just a crushdoes laps around my hungover-addled brain.
Aiden goes still at the other end of the table. “I don’t think I’m qualified,” he says slowly.
Maya frowns at him. “Aren’t you the host of the show?” He nods slowly. “Then you should pick the next date. That seems to make the most logical sense.”
Grayson’s eyes dart between us, interested. I want to drive my fork into his leg beneath the table. “Yeah,” he agrees. “That seems logical.”
“Maybe I don’t want to go on any more dates,” I offer. “Maybe I’m done with the show.”
The table rattles. Aiden winces. “Sorry. I had a . . . cough.” I stare blankly at him. He belatedly raises his fist and forces a cough into it. Somewhere to my left, Grayson makes a wheezing sound. Aiden lowers his hand and picks his fork up again. “Are you done with the show?”
I don’t want to be. I’d like for one date to work out, at least. But I don’t like the idea of Aiden organizing it. The thought makes me slightly nauseous, especially since I woke up with my face in the middle of his T-shirt. He probably still has my nose imprinted on his sternum.
“No.” I sigh. “I’m not done with the show. I wouldn’t want to disappoint Mr. Tire.”
Aiden gives me one slow blink. He stabs at a piece of pancake with more force than is strictly necessary. “I can pick your next date.”
My stomach twists. “You don’t have to do that. I’m sure I can findoneperson in the greater Baltimore area who isn’t a—”
“Dillweed?” he offers.
I push my fork around my plate. “Yeah. A dillweed. I think I can find someone with, uh, non-dillweed qualities.”
